


To God I Commend my Soul

by SunnyDear



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Angst, F/M, Religion, Religious Conflict, Romance, Royalty AU, Tragedy, Tudor Era, Tudors AU, history au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 20:04:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4890301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunnyDear/pseuds/SunnyDear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of Killian Jones and Emma Swan, with the events and based off Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn.<br/>This is the story of Killian, King of England, and his great matter. He wants his current marriage to be annulled. He wants a son. He wants the woman he loves. But know your history. Know how this ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To God I Commend my Soul

**Author's Note:**

> So this is a birthday present for the wonderful captaainswaan of Tumblr! This is my go at a CS royalty AU, and the premise is that Killian and Emma, and the events around them, are based off the story of King Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn. I’ve taken quite a few liberties with both historical and OUAT canon. Throughout this story, the darker sides of Killian will feature a lot more prominently, especially his sometimes ruthless nature which can really come into play when there’s something he’s hell bent on pursuing. Anyway, I won’t yatter on much longer. I sincerely hope you’ll enjoy this rather more unconventional CS fic, Vicky, and the happiest of birthdays. The rest of the fic will follow ASAP, I may have gotten slightly carried away. Oops. See you for another quick word at the end then, cheers!

_A king is a man who plays chess with courts full of pieces. Though some are undoubtedly more valuable than others, all are dispensable. The game resets when the king is dead._

_Among his pieces are three types of men. The first look about, seeing nothing but the gold, the glimmer, the beauty, and the grace. The gems sewn into their every garment and gown weigh as heavily as their conscience, though they walk with springs in their steps. These men would seize at any opportunity – while some merely seek the cheap pleasures of a harlot’s bed, others have their eye on the crown itself. The king must be wary, even fearful._

_The second seek all manner of riches, but know how ill gold would sit on them should it come in a crown. If the kingdom is a treasure chest, the king is the ornamental lock, and these men seek to be the inconspicuous key. The king should exercise caution, but not fear. Though these men are ambitious, their game is ultimately one of exploitation, not regicide._

_The third is the queen._

“In nomine patri, et fili, et spiritus sancti. Amen.”

“Amen,” the stone walls echoed back. Killian rose to his feet, and saw Milah turning to him from the corner of his eye. Swiftly, he extended her his hand and pulled her up from the pew.

“I’ll see you later,” the brusque words echoed louder than he intended. Killian quickly turned on his heels and strode off.

“Majesty!”

“Majesty!”

“Majesty!”

“Majesty!”

“Majesty, please!”

“Majesty!”

The cacophony of salutations started as soon as Killian stepped out of the church doors. His heavy winter cloak billowed behind him as he paced onwards, and swung up onto his horse with a smooth sweep. Behind him, he could hear Milah’s voice.

“God bless you dear sir. God bless you. Bless you, yes thank you. Thank you. God bless you. God be with you my dear. God bless you. Thank you. God be with you.”

The people likened her to an angel. The merciful. The saving grace. The one true faithful. From his saddle, Killian gazed down at his queen. Her figure had gently rounded, not with the heir he so desired, but with the age which heralded the end of her child bearing years. His averted his eyes from her as she bent down to kiss the forehead of a child, and instead kicked his horse with enough force to send it leaping away from the church with a clatter of hooves.

Immediately, a cloud of dust rose up as those in his court who had accompanied him to mass took off on their own horses, following their king back to the palace. Killian, dozens of paces ahead, tilted his head, half looking back, and waited.

Sure enough, soon a particular set of hoof beats drew daringly close. The stallion approaching behind him had a pace Killian recognised well. The huge destrier, bred in Perche, had followed his mistress to England all the way from the courts of France, and had a long, heavy stride whose power seemed to challenge the earth itself to shatter beneath him. He was not a horse one easily forgets. A horse of iron and steel, fit for the woman who rode him.

“You she-devil,” Killian whispered. He turned his head further, just far enough to reveal a slither of his smirk to the grey stallion’s rider, and though she couldn’t have possibly caught his words in the storm of hoof beats around them, he heard her laugh.

Killian’s stables were made of the best the English had to offer. Though he knew he eventually wouldn’t be able to outpace the sheer power of the French destrier, Killian kicked his own horse onwards. Behind him, the steady hoof beats of a rocking canter broke into a gallop to match the pace of the king. With a bellow of pure joy, Killian urged his steed faster. Soon, the two had outpaced the courtiers, the noblemen, the ladies in waiting, even the queen. As soon as they rounded a corner, the grey stallion easily drew astride Killian’s black palfrey. As the two horses matched each other pace for pace, flanks almost touching, the stallion’s rider placed one hand on Killian’s shoulder, the other around his waist, and vaulted onto the back of his saddle.

“Hello, your majesty,” her lips were at his ear. “Did you miss me?”

“The finest horsewoman in England or France,” he tossed over his shoulder. “You nearly had us on the ground there, lass.”

Finally, Killian reigned in his steed, and the sweating beast slowed to a steady walk. Almost throwing away his reins, the king turned in the saddle and, grasping the woman’s blonde hair under her French hood, he kissed her.

“Scandalous, my dear swan.” he murmured. “There are better times and places for games.”

“Don’t tell me you object?” she breathed into his mouth.

“Mass is wasted on your soul, Emma Nolan.”

The winter sun was barely enough to warm the peaks of her shining hair, daringly peeking out from under a hood none of the ladies who had been raised in England would ever think of wearing. Killian cupped her face, tucking errant strands back into place.

“I mean it love, now is neither the time nor the place. I promise you, m’lady, thy will be done. Please, go.” The pounding of hooves from around the bend in the trees was drawing nearer.

“I’m waiting, Killian Jones.”

He offered her his hand, but she didn’t take it. One gloved hand on her pommel, the other on his shoulder, she easily hopped back into her side saddle. Emma drummed her heels against her stallion’s side and took off into the trees, leaving Killian alone just in time as the rest of his court rounded the corner. He could still taste her exotic scent on his own lips. Quickly, he dropped his hand back to the reins.

“Your majesty!” came a bellow. “Are you all right?”

“I thought I saw a deer,” called Killian. “Never mind, we’ll proceed back to the palace. Graham, ride with me a while.”

“Your majesty.”

The Lord Chancellor urged his horse to catch up with the king’s, and together they rode a little ahead, out of earshot.

“Cardinal, our relations with Rome. Are they sound?”

“Of course, the Pope loves all his subjects.”

“And Spain? That black bearded emperor, we are on friendly terms?”

“You are married to his aunt. The emperor of Spain loves you as a brother.”

“Very well,” the words fell grudgingly from Killian’s lips.

“Something troubling you, your majesty?”

Killian glanced around. “Come, Cardinal.”

He led their horses off the path, down a sloping escarpment. The two rode in silence for several minutes, until the shouts of the court faded behind them. Killian halted, sitting still for a minute. Once he ascertained they had not been followed, he turned to his chancellor, his most trusted advisor, the second most powerful man in England.

“Graham, I need an annulment.”

Blue eyes stared into blue, and the Cardinal swiftly crossed himself.

“Your majesty, you’re talking of the Queen of England, you cannot simply-” Graham began weakly.

“I have committed biblical incest, Graham, and for this, God punishes me. I am without an heir. Our marriage is null and void, and I need the Pope to pronounce it so.”

“But your majesty, I stand by what I have said. If the queen and Prince Liam-”

“And I’ve asked Emma to marry me.” Killian said simply, in a tone which warned the cardinal the matter was not open for debate.

“Asked-” the cardinal’s voice was faint as he persisted. “Your majesty, you could have taken her as a mistress, surely-”

“She wouldn’t have me!” Killian bellowed. A flock of thrushes took flight from the trees above. “She wouldn’t have me, Graham, she wouldn’t have the King of England as anything less than a lawfully wedded husband, do you hear? And I would not have her as anything less than the queen. I will give her reputation and respect. I will marry her, Graham!”

The two men sat on their twitching horses in silence, the trees around them reverberating with the frantic beating of startled wings.

“The sin of lust, your majesty, may well be greater than-”

“Do you forget who raised you from the dust?”

The cardinal gritted his teeth. “Your majesty, all the same-”

“- _then you will obey me._ ” Killian wheeled his stallion around at the sound of his noblemen’s approaching hoof beats. “We will talk after dinner.”

Killian raced off once more, to the curses and groans of the men who had painstakingly arrived behind him, back up the sloping bank to join Queen Milah where she sat tall on her white mare. At the top of the escarpment, one face caught his attention in particular. David Nolan, little more than a shadowy silhouette against the setting sun, was gazing down at his king. As Killian climbed higher, he saw a countenance one might expect to encounter on a battlefield – one clenching back such a passion that it surpassed words, and could have been fairly described as anything from an unspeakable rage to a blazing triumph. The expression startled Killian, but by the time Killian reached Milah’s side, it was a different face which now occupied his thoughts. Emma must have doubled back, slipping through the trees to rejoin the queen’s entourage. He rode past her with barely a backwards glance. But as Milah rode ahead, her expression frosty with what she could hardly have failed to guess over the past months, he felt like a man who, having spent his entire life gazing into a fire, had just lifted his head and looked into the sun. He would never again see the crown jewels around Milah’s neck. He would never again see that band of precious metals and gems which wreathed his own head. He would never look upon anything which sparkled or shined without, like a man dazzled by a greater light, deeming them inferior to the sheen of Emma’s golden hair.

He would marry her.

~*~*~*~

Cardinal Humbert was a man of his word. Moreover, he was a man of God. As Killian strode around the gardens later that night, he could see more clearly than he had ever before a righteous grace in his old friend’s every stride. And it made his stomach churn – he needed Graham on his side. Yet now, when he needed him the most, the closest man in England to the Pope would not bend. Killian was confident he could change his mind. A man of God must obey God’s law, after all.

“Graham, Liam was the one Milah came from Spain to marry. Six months, for six months they were man and wife, it is a sin which has polluted my household and I must be rid of it. My ‘marriage’ is no more, it never was.” Killian’s hands were clasped behind his back, his stride almost a swagger across the carefully manicured lawn.

“Your majesty, Prince Liam went away on campaign straight after the wedding. The queen swore the marriage was never consummated and if it was never consummated, then it is no sin,” the cardinal almost pleaded. Killian gritted his teeth. His every syllable dripped with sincerity, no doubt Graham was genuine.

“Thou shalt not uncover the nakedness of thy brother’s wife: it is thy brother’s nakedness. Leviticus, chapter 18.”

“Only if the marriage was-”

“Consummated, yes, so I’ve heard.” Killian strode in silence, fuming. “Yet God punishes me, Graham. My marriage must be a lie.”

“What makes you think so? You sit on the throne of England, surely that is God’s blessing and a sign of His favour.”

“But I have no son!” Killian stopped and turned to his Lord Chancellor, forcing him to come to a halt too. He thought he saw his blue eyes waver, and Killian’s heart filled with hope.

“I have no son, cardinal, do you not understand? If I die, it all dies with me! This!” Killian redoubled his urgency, throwing his arms open in a sweeping gesture which motioned towards the castle behind them. “What then, my father will have fought for nothing, my brother will have _died_ for nothing. Look at me, Cardinal, _listen_ to me. I’m no old English king. The souls of dead men put me on my throne, Graham, do you not understand that I must keep it?” he repeated insistently.

“Queen Milah may yet have a son, your Majesty,” countered Graham cautiously.

“Yes, and the lad will join the others in their early graves, and probably take Milah with him.”

“You cannot know that-”

“If a man shall take his brother’s wife, it is an unclean thing, Cardinal, and they shall be childless. Leviticus, chapter 20, verse 21. What do you make of that then?”

“Yet you seem so sure that woman, that consort-”

“ _Her name is Emma!_ ” Killian’s yell echoed across the lake, the water almost rippling at the shock. The poor priest stepped back in alarm, as the king almost shook with rage. “Don’t you dare, cardinal, don’t you dare.”

A tense silence hung over the gardens, and Killian closed his eyes. When he opened them, a flurry of movement near the edge of the water caught his eye. A swan, no doubt startled by his voice, was crouching near a floating root, feathers bristling. Killian grasped Graham roughly by the arms and spun him around.

“Look at that, Cardinal. Do you see that swan?”

“Yes, your majesty.”

“Do you see what it’s guarding?”

“Its cygnets, it’s only natural for a mother to protect her young. You must have alarmed it, your majesty.”

“Indeed, yet it doesn’t take flight,” Killian stepped closer, and the swan bristled, barking a warning at him.

“What a magnificent creature she is,” the king of England lowered his voice in awe. “Look at how she crouches over her young. The symbol of purity and chastity. Do you not see what this means, Cardinal?”

“No,” replied Graham stubbornly. His foot toed a loose pebble, sending it clattering away towards the bird. “Your majesty, enough talk of swans, we must return.”

Graham turned and began to stride back towards the light of the palace, when a soft shout in the darkness bade him turn around. The king was still standing, entranced, watching as another swan skimmed across the water to land in front of its mate.

“They mate for life,” Killian said simply. “The swan, Emma’s family crest. _The symbol of chastity_ , Graham, after the corruption my current marriage brings. Do you see? Do you see God’s hand in all this?”

“Indeed,” replied Graham dourly. One could hardly miss the expression of longing on the king’s face.

“Then do you give me your word, Graham?” he called.

It took all of Cardinal Graham Humbert’s considerable self-control not to seize the king by the throat, or to throw himself at his feet. He crossed himself again.

“No, your majesty.”

Graham could feel his king’s anger roiling in the darkness, and when he placed a hand on his sleeve, his fingers trembled.

“Your majesty. _Killian Jones_. By whatever love you hold for God, by whatever regard you have for me, I am begging you. Do not make me do this. I will have no part in your war against a marriage that is holy. Please. I am begging you.”

Killian gazed at his old friend, barely making out his eyes in the darkness. Bitterly swallowing his disappointment, he shook off his hand, and made his way back to the castle alone.

~*~*~*~

“Good night, your majesty.”

The ladies in waiting each murmured to the queen as they packed up and filed out of the bedchamber one by one. Milah wordlessly handed Emma her rosary beads and prayer book, and Emma inclined her head graciously. Holding the holy instruments in her hands felt like sin. Emma gazed at the aging queen, acutely feeling the vigour of her own body next to her measured, weary moves. Weary not just after a long day, Emma knew. How long was it since her bed had known the warmth of two bodies? When was the last time she looked into her husband’s eyes and found true affection in them?

Suddenly, the ladies in waiting scrambled backwards in a flurry of curtsies. Both Emma and Milah whirled around to see Killian standing like a shadow under the doorframe. Tears almost sprung into Emma’s eyes at the hope that flared in those of the queen’s.

“Killian, you’ve come to me,” she almost cooed, reaching out her hands. Emma quickly stepped backwards, out of the flickering candlelight. Any bystander in the room watching closely would have seen the same play of emotions on both women’s faces – hope, yearning, and affection, and under it all, seething resentment and hurt simmered.

She tried to catch his eye, but Killian’s gaze avoided Emma like the sweating sickness. When he strode towards Milah to grasp her hands, she knew then what it must be like for the poor souls who writhe under the disease’s lecherous grips.

“My queen,” Killian ran his fingers down Milah’s throat, and Emma saw stars. His next words had her seeing them again:

“I’m going to need those crown jewels back, darling.”

Killian looked over Milah’s shoulder after the words left his mouth, straight into Emma’s green eyes. The breath she had been holding rushed out of her then, and Emma’s expression turned aghast. She couldn’t see Milah’s face but she was sure the queen’s expression could not have been so different. With a hint of a cruel smirk, Killian released Milah’s hands with a flourish, and bent at the waist in a bow.

“Truly, Milah, it has been a pleasure. Now, love, I want a divorce.”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for the lack of Emma in this chapter. I promise, for the next bit coming up, there will be Emma, there will be backstories, there will be explanations!! Stay with me!


End file.
